


Catch Us If You Can

by jiaolong



Category: Cursed (TV 2020)
Genre: Action & Romance, Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff and Humor, One Shot, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:29:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25877455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiaolong/pseuds/jiaolong
Summary: They needed more supplies and they just so happen to stumble their way to a paladin camp with plenty of supplies.Whatever shall they do...
Relationships: Nimue & Lancelot, Nimue/The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed), nimulot
Comments: 14
Kudos: 113





	Catch Us If You Can

[ ](https://ibb.co/wYSnZYB)   
  


The twilight pierces through the sky with streaks of pink and yellow. The sight alone brings with it the promise of night— following closely behind— nipping at the dwindling sky up above. Bursts of red hues are dotted sporadically, causing the clouds to show as a deep wisteria shade as they sit unperturbed by what is right below them.

Three cloaked figures consisting of one man, one woman, and one boy, are adorned in long black cloaks with their hoods up. They stand at the edge of the forest, lurking at the precipice as they look out to what is in front of them. A gaggle of men cloaked in red robes rummage around through the field, trudging their way around the rows of tents. The tents are set up in two rows running parallel to each other, leaving the middle wide open for the whole camp to see.

Like a predator stalking its prey, they wait.

Waiting for the moment when they are at their weakest to pounce.

The camp consists of nine red paladins and one commander who oversees the whole place. His tent is the only tent lying in the middle, towards the front of the camp. It would give them the upper hand to weed out as many as they can before charging in— giving them the element of surprise.

The three cloaked figures continue to watch, using the foliage of the forest as their cover. Below the small cliff they are currently crouching on sits a pond about fifteen feet down. Standing under the changing sky, they begin to plot their attack. The head of the man turns away from the camp in front of him to the woman standing beside him.

“A camp this small would be used more for tracking what’s around and less for purging the Fey”, he speaks lowly, “They travel around from place to place and if they discover anything useful, they report it back to the main camps”.

She turns her head to face him, locking her eyes with his own— blue eyes meeting blue eyes.

“So to take out the entire camp”, she whispers.

“Would be a major blow for them”, his voice rasps while he finishes her thought.

Peeling her eyes from his burning gaze, she re- focuses on the camp in front of her.

With the commander having his tent at the front, that leaves five tents on each side. With each paladin having their own tent for themselves, that leaves one extra tent— the tent that would house their supply of food and weapons.

_But which tent is it?_ she thinks to herself.

“There is one extra tent”, she states, “Am I correct to believe that is the one holding their supplies?”

“But which one is it?” The boy in between them quietly questions.

Both the woman and the little boy turn their heads to the man. If anyone were to know, it would be him.

“It has to be in the front”, he replies, not turning away from the camp, “It would be one of the first ones— closest to the commander”.

It doesn’t surprise her to hear his revelation. If you have something valuable, you would do all you could to protect it.

She crouches down beside the boy, turning her body in front of him in order to face him. “Squirrel, I need you to pay attention to what I’m about to say”, her index finger props up his chin so his eyes meet her own, “While Lance and I are fighting off the paladins, it’s your job to find which tent has the food in it”.

Squirrel nods his head, icy blue eyes opened wide, as he listens intently to what he is being told.

Lancelot pulls his focus from the camp in front of him. Turning around to stroll to the other side of the boy, he crouches down to join them.

“Nimue and I will weed out as many as we can before we all push forward”, he states lowly, “The ones that venture on the outer side of the tents will be shot. The more we get, the better”, he casts a glance sideways to Nimue before looking back down on Squirrel.

“The longer they don’t notice, the better”, he raises his hand to cup the back of the young boy’s head to affirm his next point, “But, they _will_ notice. And when they do, we need to be as quick as we can”, letting his hand fall from the back of his head, he casts his gaze to Nimue again. “Get in and get out”.

It’s Nimue’s turn to speak, “Grab only what we need first. If there is still room for non essentials, so be it. You must grab everything as fast as you can”.

The boy’s face lights up. A wide grin slowly crawling across his face as he all but beams up at her, “Fast like the fox”.

Nimue can’t help but notice the little twinkle that dances in his eyes.

A smile of her own begins to spread across her face, “Yes, fast like the fox”.

From the corner of her eye she can see Lancelot’s features quickly turn quizzical. He moves his attention to her with a brow raised and a lopsided grin.

She shakes her head, snickering to herself, before looking back at Squirrel. Leaning forward, she envelops the boy in her arms to hug him. It doesn’t take long for him to wrap his little arms around her.

With his head resting in the crook of her neck, she turns her head to kiss his cheek and then further up to his temple.

“And please remember to be careful. If you get surrounded, forget everything and flee”, she whispers, looking down at him.

He raises his head, “I will Nimue. I am a knight now after all”, he reminds her.

She rolls her eyes while a smirk tugs at the corner of her lips, “Oh yes, how could I ever forget”, she drawls.

This causes him to laugh out— quite loudly— a cheery and bubbly sort of laugh.

Lancelot claps his hand over the young boy’s mouth. He stays there for a few moments before he begins to slowly lower his hand.

“Sorry”, he whispers while throwing a shy glance towards Lancelot. He leans forward to place a kiss to the crown of his head, “I know Percival, it’s alright”, he whispers, while a smile of his own lingers not too far away.

Lancelot is the first to stand, reaching a hand out to Nimue. Placing her hand in his, she can feel the callouses that mare his skin. The majority of them are located on the pad at the top of his hand. She wouldn’t call her hands soft, but they weren’t anything like his.

Many nights she spent with him— curled up next to him while he held her— where she would trace over them with the tips of her fingers. The fire sat there, not too far from them, crackling away in the background. With a stillness that only night can bring; A peaceful time where they get to truly unwind and relax. With her body tucked securely under one arm and Squirrel under his other, they all lay under the deep midnight blue of the sky.

“Will I be getting an explanation or will you leave me in the dark?”

He doesn’t have to further explain what he is asking, she already knows— _The fox._

“Maybe, maybe not”, she croons, smiling up at him.

With the arm wrapped around her lower back, he pinches her. She tries her best to turn into his chest in an effort to muffle the sound of her squealing out.

“Shhh”, he breathes out, softly chuckling to himself as he wraps his other arm around her body to pull her frame closer to his own.

“You started it”, she hisses back.

He kisses her temple before moving his mouth down to her ear, “And it was worth it”, he whispers, causing a shiver to rack through her frame as she feels her face flush.

“We’re going to make it through this, Nim”, he speaks as soon as she has calmed down.

Titling her head upwards to look into his bright blue eyes, she nods her head.

“Focus on right here. Don’t worry yourself with possibilities of what could happen; We will cross those bridges if we come to them”.

“I know”, she sighs, looking at a point past his shoulder, “I just got so used to my sword that it doesn’t feel right to fight without one now”.

He understands how she feels. He cannot even remember a time where he didn’t have swords to fight with. Not having them there to rely on is a jarring realization. He leans his head close to hers, his forehead only a few inches away from her own.

“We will be fine, darling. I’ll take the brunt of it and push us forward. You just have to cover me”, he raises his head to press a kiss to her head— lingering to afford himself a few extra moments.

As he pulls his lips away from her skin, he begins to speak again, “You’re ready, Nimue. Don’t doubt yourself”.

The memories of him teaching her how to shoot comes hurling to the forefront of his mind. They way he showed her how to position her hands on the bow, where to grip the arrow down by the endpoint, how far to pull back on the string.

The memory of her body pressed up against his own, his hands ghosting over hers, and his face mere inches away from hers. The way her body reacted to his closeness along with the affects it had on his own body. A moment so clear in his mind—as he knew without a doubt—that his feelings where growing for her.

The way her face lit up as she successfully shot her first arrow into the tree trunk about twenty feet away from them. The way his heart squeezed inside his chest when she turned her attention back to him, beaming brightly in the glow of the afternoon sunlight. The green of the leaves and foliage deepening slightly and the world faded away from him. Gods help him, he couldn’t have stopped the huge grin that he mirrored even if he tried.

Pressing up on her tip toes, she leans forward to seal her lips to his. He places his hands on either side of her face to hold her where she is. She grabs onto his forearms as he locks his lips with hers again, dragging the kiss on for longer.

When they pull away, they are both breathless— chests heaving in the quiet air. The kiss wasn’t long, but the way it had felt was enough to seize both their breaths away and leave them starved of the air they so desperately need to survive.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you”, he speaks lowly, eyes at half mast as they look down at her—while his hands are still cradling her face.

“I know”, she whispers back, a soft smile playing at her lips all while gazing up at him.

Taking a deep breath, he nods slightly, before taking a step backwards to separate his body away from her own.

“Ready”, he looks down at Squirrel.

“They won’t know what hit them”, he taunts as the twinkle in his eyes from before is replaced with something sharper— a glint of mischief.

A smile blooms on Lancelot’s face as he looks at the young boy.

“Let’s start”, Nimue speaks up.

“Let’s, he rasps.

Turning away from each other, they walk to the opposite sides of the forest. The sound of their feet crunching against the verdure and twigs under them as they make their trek on the chunk of land that overhangs outwards past the cliff by a couple yards. They finally stop once they have found a place that has both a clean shot and enough of a barrier for cover. The next part is the waiting game. _Who is going to walk on the outer sides of the tents? How many will they be able to get? And how long will they go unnoticed?_

Taking an arrow from the canister strapped to her back, she begins to ready it for the oblivious men below. One man, that looks to be of slender build, makes the fatal mistake of walking on the wrong side of the tents. Pulling the arrow back, she takes her aim, and breathes. Honing her focus in on the man, she remembers what Lancelot and Squirrel taught her:

Aim,

breathe out,

breathe in,

and let it fly.

And it does just that. Soaring through the wind, silent and unforgiving, it spears the man through the chest. He freezes for a moment as his body tightens up before falling onto his back. She looks to her left— smiling proudly at herself— to see if Lancelot had seen it.

But to no avail, he has his bow drawn, arrow in place, taking aim at some point that isn’t visible to her where she currently is. Turning her attention back to the camp, she takes out another arrow and waits for her next victim.

Not far from her, he crouches low to the ground— ready to attack. He awaits for whomever might make the fateful decision to walk the wrong way. And when one does, with blonde hair and a round midsection, he lets go of his grip on the arrow letting it fly. Spinning through the air, it hits him in the head, plunging deep into the man’s forehead. Just before he has a chance to relax, another man comes down the same way.

_Oh no,_ he thinks.

As deftly as he can, he grabs another bow and lines it up with the string. Pulling it back, he lets it go just as the monk notices the dead man right before him. The arrow speeds through the air on a warpath until it plunges itself into the paladin’s neck. Blood comes spewing from his mouth— sending crimson red rivulets soaring through the air while the rest drips down his mouth—before the paladin’s body inevitably falls forward and clashes with the ground.

Unaware of the close call on Lancelot’s side, she crouches to the ground to find a better stance to shoot from. Just as her back knee sinks into the wet mud underneath her, another monk rounds the corner to walk behind the tents. With his back to her, she knows she has to be quick.

Grabbing a bow, she assembles it and prepares to take aim— preferably for the middle of his back. The surroundings around her begin to slow as the rest of the world fades away until the only thing she can see is him. The back of his head; The way his black curls dance in the air, reacting to his thunderous footsteps on the grass. She doesn’t feel herself inhale, but she does hear it.

It’s then, that she lets go.

As the arrow hurtles through the air, it doesn’t take long before it slices through the skin on his back with a ferocity that causes him to fly forward and fall down face first into the turf. She reaches back to grab another one, running the pads of her fingertips over the smoothness of the fine wood. Another monk rounds the corner— walking towards her. She pulls back the bow and shoots. Leaning back on her back foot, she smiles in triumph as she watches the arrow that she shot dig itself into the monk’s throat.

As quickly as her smile appeared, it falls as she registers the sight of another monk—that was concealed by the one she has just shot. As his body slumps to the ground, the other monk’s presence becomes apparent. She doesn’t even have enough time to grab another arrow —let alone shoot him— as he has already made a break for it and running back to the camp. Her heart lurches against her ribcage as she fully comes to terms with what has just happened.

AMBUSH!!!!

Lancelot hears the sound of the paladin’s voice boom through the camp eliciting a frenzy among them as they begin to scatter and trudge towards their weapons. Jumping up, he runs toward the other side of the forest with Squirrel in front of him. By the time they both reach it, Nimue has fully stood up and has readied herself for whatever may lie ahead.

“It’s now or never”, her voice shakes as she whispers to Lancelot.

They all turn and begin to jog further out of the forest— trying to stay low to ground for some sort of cover. Their feet thump against the ground as they walk the downwards slope of the foothill. Approaching the mouth of the hill, they look back at the camping chaos as the prepare for their unknown attackers.

“How many did you get?” She questions.

“Two”, he replies, “What about you?”

“Three”.

“So that’s five left”, Squirrel interjects.

As Lancelot studies the camp in full disarray, he catches the movement of a paladin hurling out of the first tent on the left side.

_It’s the right tent,_ he pieces together in his head.

Reaching out to the young boy’s face, he wraps his fingers around his chin to move his head in the direction of the tent.

Reaching his other hand outward, he points at the left tent, “A paladin just came out of that tent”, he moves his hand to point to the right tent while simultaneously letting go of Squirrel’s chin, “The food will be stored in the right one”.

Squirrel offers a curt nod, never breaking his focus on the tent located on the right side. With his burlap sack that has been folded in half and tucked in halfway into his pants, he watches on as he begins to envision his task at hand.

_Fast_ _as the fox,_ he reminds himself.

Bows ready and held in front of them, they begin to push forward towards the camp. Passing the pond of water to their left, the tents begin to loom over them as they journey closer. The red tarps flap and sway through the air as a gust of wind starts thundering around them.

Squirrel peels off from them and makes a beeline straight for the right tent. Running as quick as his legs will allow him, he dodges red paladins who have now drawn their arms and carry swords— ready to fight. He throws the red tarp to the side and pushes his way into the tent. Taking account of his surroundings, he starts to mentally sift through what is around him before getting started.

The red Paladins begin bustling towards the end of the camp. Nimue crouches down to take aim and shoots into the blossoming night sky. Piercing him in the shoulder, his body spins around from the impact before his legs give out. Following shortly behind, Lancelot has flung an arrow into the air that charges straight into the next approaching paladin’s eye.

Not long after, Squirrel’s bristling form comes speeding back towards them with the burlap sack over his bag that appears to be filled to the brim and a big glass pot. Nimue almost does a double take at the sight of him running with it, but quickly turns her attention to the men in front of her. From the corner of her eye, she registers Lancelot turning away from them and beginning to leave. But, she can’t; Her feet are glued to the ground refusing to move an inch— effectively locking her in place.

“Nimue!” The weeping monk yells out to her, “Time to go!”

But she refuses to join them. She must finish this. Even if they were to retreat, they know who just attacked them and word will definitely spread. Another possibility, they could let them leave only to follow their trail and attack them later on at night— while they are off guard.

The worst part is that they _didn’t_ finish them off. It’s this dark part of her that wants to spill every single drop of their blood in the grass. The part of her that will only leave once she has seen every single one of them fall— to leave not one of them alive and breathing. To be responsible for their demise. It’s that dark side of her that demands she stays and finishes them off; So they will never be able to find another group of Fey hiding. To never be able to aid in the vicious slaughtering of the Fey.

It’s that very reason that smolders a pit of fire in the core of her stomach. Reaching back to grab the arrow, as she raises it above her head she can feel that fire begin to grow. It’s when she pulls the arrow back, that she can feel the flames begin to snake around her ribcage. And when she lets the arrow leave her hand, she feels her whole body buzzing alive with something so intense she is unable to place what it is exactly in the moment. But when the arrow strikes through the front of those paladin’s heads, there is no mistaking what it is— vengeance.

Lancelot quickly realizes that she isn’t following him. Stopping dead in his tracks, he turns back around to watch what she just did. Knowing full damn well she wasn’t leaving, he turns back to Squirrel who stopped running when Lancelot stopped. Kneeling down in front of Squirrel, he grips his shoulders with a hand of his on each side.

“Don’t stop running”, he starts, “Run as fast as you can until you get to where we have set up camp. Drop everything and then find some place to hide. We will come find you”.

“I’m not leaving without you guys!”

“Percival, I need to go so I can help Nimue. We will be fine”, he assures the young boy.

He can tell that he doesn’t like the idea of being away from them— afraid of what could happen. But, it would be easier to fight knowing that Squirrel was away and safe from the mayhem unfolding. He drops his eyes to ground and begrudgingly nods in acceptance.

Pressing a chaste kiss to the young boy’s face, he begins to stand up, “Now go”, his voice booms.

It’s only when he sees Squirrel retreat and run back into the forest that he turns back around to face the camp again to see Nimue dodging the slashes of the paladin’s swords thrusting at her. They have moved their way further into the camp— to the middle. Approaching a fallen paladin who had been shot with an arrow in the head, he reaches down to grab the sword that is still firmly set in his grasp.

_How long has it been since I last wielded a sword?_ He questions himself.

It almost feels like coming home— feels right. Having wielded blades for almost all his life, it feels like a part of him is missing when he is without one. Putting an arm through the bow, he maneuvers his body through it to position it securely around his chest before moving onward to join Nimue.

As he approaches closer to her, he watches as she swerves her body to the right as the sword cuts through the air trying to grab onto something to slice. While she may have evaded that blade, another paladin has crept up to her right side. Unknowing of the paladin behind her, Lancelot bolts as he tries to desperately catch up in time. Wrapping his left arm around her waist, he hoists her into the air and turns his body to face the paladin’s as he simultaneously has set Nimue on the ground behind him. He hears her feet thud on the ground as he is raising his sword to block the blow from the monk that had tried to sneak up on her.

Pushing his blade upwards, the man staggers back a few steps trying to recover his balance. Before he can even find his footing, Lancelot has thrust the point of his sword threw his midsection. As he pulls his blade back, he is met with a gleam of blood slathered on the metal blade. Upon falling to his knees, Lancelot grabs the sword out of the paladin’s hand before turning to the last two remaining.

“What happened to being unsure of yourself”, he quips.

“I got over it”, she throws back.

“One of these days your vengeance is going to get us killed”.

She reminds him of how he used to be in the beginning, when he first got the taste of battle. In the beginning— before the fighting started— his stomach was always in knots. So nervous of what was to come as he wrung his small hands together trying to relieve the unsettling feeling flowing through him. But all that came to a crashing halt when the battle had begun; With adrenaline taking charge as it started to corse through his veins, his body began to move on its own accord— conquering one after the other. No longer unsure of himself, but in the moment, he felt alive. It became the only time that he ever felt alive— his self- hatred was at a standstill and that deep- rooted confliction going on in his mind was dimmed low as his mind checked out and his body took over. Relinquishing him of the crushing burdens that he constantly must carry with him everywhere he goes, he finds peace in the simplicity of battle.

The last two monks raise their blades above their heads before bringing them down aimed at him. As the blades crash down through the air, they are abruptly stopped in motion by both of Lancelot’s blades with a resounding clank. Pushing the right one back, he drags his left blade to the side— flourishing it to get a better grip— before swinging it back around to cut the paladin’s head right off his body.

Nimue grabs another arrow and begins to set it up. She pulls it back as the man regains his footing back on the ground. Just as he is about to charge towards Lancelot, she lets the arrow fly. The sound of the string— vibrating from the motion— echoes in her ears as she watches the arrow puncture the man’s eye.

Neither of them peel their eyes away from the sight of the last paladin falling to his knees— even when Lancelot begins to walk backwards till he is beside Nimue. For a few moments, all they can do is stare. The only sound in the air is their labored breathing and pants from their rigorous excursions.

He brings the two blades to his waistband where he used to hold his swords. It may have been empty for a time being, but the holsters once again hold swords for him to fight with. A darker side of him is glad they are back. He has missed the weight they carried and the comfort they have always brought him over the years. No matter how alone he might have felt, his weapons were the only thing he could always count on being there for him no matter what. It’s slightly different because they aren’t _his_ swords, but they will suffice.

As they turn to face the other, they begin to come down from the battle high and exhaustion begins to start taking hold at the sudden drop of adrenaline. His eyes burn into hers and she can only assume that hers must look the same way.

Stepping closer to him, she can feel his body heat radiating off his own. She raises her hand to his face to wipe off a strip of blood. She looks down at her hand below her— rubbing her thumb and index finger together— smearing the ruby colored liquid across them.

Lancelot reaches out to envelop her hands into his, “It’s not mine Nimue”, he pulls her hands up towards his face to plant a kiss on top of them, “I’m okay— _We’re_ okay”, he stresses that last part.

Tilting her face up to meet his gaze, she raises up on her tip toes and leans forward to kiss him. Readjusting his grip, he keeps one hand around the both of hers and the other snakes up to the back of her head. As he deepens the kiss, his fingers begins to idly card through the hair located there causing goosebumps to break out across her body. Eventually they break away from the kiss and they both rest their foreheads against the other’s.

“We’re okay”, she whispers, affirming what he had told her earlier.

Their bliss is cut short and they pull their heads apart. As effective as being drenched by a bucket of ice cold water— realization dawns on them.

“Squirrel”, they both call out.

Pushing her head through the bow, she secures it over her chest. He grabs her hand and interlaces his fingers with hers before they start running back to the forest. Passing the pond of water, they begin to climb their way up the hill before running straight back into the forest. The place they had set up camp wasn’t too far from the red paladin’s camp. Before, it had caused both of them a sense of uneasiness— having Squirrel so close to it. But with it being eradicated, they know longer feel that way.

Bristling through the foliage— hand in hand— they push themselves to keep moving. A few minutes later, they have arrived back at their camp. They know Squirrel has made it as the sack and pot sit by a thick tree trunk, but he isn’t in sight. Goliath stands a feet away from the tree, tall and unyielding.

Lancelot lets go of Nimue’s hand to take a few steps forward, “Born in the dawn”, his deep voice rumbles as he calls out.

A few feet away, Squirrel’s head pops up through a bush, “To pass in the Twilight”, he l but beams as he smiles brightly up at the weeping monk.

Lancelot doesn’t even try and fight the grin that spreads across his face at the sight of him, relief surging through him as he registers the boy is safe. He can faintly hear Nimue chuckle from behind him. Pushing forward, he reaches into the bush to grab his little frame and pull him out. Placing him on the ground, he begins to dust off the leaves that are littered all over his small frame, stubbornly attached to him.

Nimue has made her way over to the tree where Squirrel had placed everything before hiding. Kneeling down beside it, she begins to examine what it is exactly that he had grabbed.

“Squirrel, why did you grab this thing”, she says, pushing it back slightly to examine the sides of it. The whole pot is bathed in red along with a black cross painted on.

He perks up and runs over to where Nimue is, “We could use it to cook as it already has the chains attached to it”, he begins while holding up one of the three black linked chains, “We just need to find sticks big enough to support the weight to hang it on. And when we aren’t using it, it could double as storage. It would make it much easier to carry with all our stuff tucked inside it”.

A slow smile begins to creep up on Nimue’s face, “Squirrel, this is brilliant!” She exclaims. The young boy beams with pride at her compliment.

“Oh”, he says while reaching out to grab the pot, “I also grabbed a few extra things”, he fishes his hands through the contents till he finds what he is looking for. Raising his hand, he produces a fistful of gold coins.

This time, it’s Lancelot who asks the question, “Where did you get this?”.

“While all the paladins went after you guys, I snuck into the commander’s tent and swiped a good portion of his gold coins”, he answers, that mischievous glint back in his eyes.

Both eyebrows raised along with a lopsided smile, Lancelot’s eyes flicker to Nimue’s only to find her mirroring the same expression— Impressed that he was able to get food _and_ money and slight disbelief that it was as easy as it was to pull off.

They all sit down in a circle, giving Squirrel the spotlight to show off all that he was able to get. Along with the gold coins, the pot also had flint, salt, pepper, a small tub of brackish water, three smaller bowls, three cups, three knives, and five wooden spoons. The burlap sack contained two slabs of dried beef and lamb, two slabs of salted herring and trout, several leeks, a hunk of cheese, four loaves of bread and a bunch of carrots.

He lingers for a moment on something else in the bag, “And”, he pauses for a brief second, “And that’s it”, he finishes snapping the bag shut.

“Oh really”, Nimue questions while raising an eyebrow.

“Mhm”.

Nimue turns her head to lock eyes with Lancelot. She doesn’t need to say anything, the corners of his lips quirking is enough confirmation for her to know they are on the same page. Nimue reaches out and grabs Squirrel by the waist— placing the boy in her lap— all while Lancelot has simultaneously grabbed the burlap sack and has started to rummage through it.

Upon his fingers wrapping around the jug, he stops moving, and slowly begins to look up at Squirrel who is currently trying to feign some false sense of innocence. Cocking his head slightly to the right, he raises the jug beside his head, and raises both his eyebrows.

“What have I told you about drinking, Squirrel”, Nimue admonishes the young child.

“I’ve drank plenty of times before”, he exasperatedly throws back.

“You’re too young to be drinking”.

He crosses his arms over his chest as he begins to pout.

“Fuss all you want over it, but you will thank me later”, she replies.

“And if you won’t thank us, your liver certainly will”, Lancelot adds, smiling.

This elicits a laugh from Nimue. Reaching down, she tickles him at his ribs, causing him to start laughing while also trying to squirm away. It’s at that point that Lancelot joins in on the laughter. The sight of his bright eyes and happiness has the power to lighten even the foulest of moods. Eventually, Nimue lets up on the boy and grants him mercy.

⚔️⚔️

Sitting by the pond— under the darkness of the night sky— she is washing the big pot, the three bowls, three spoons, and three cups. They had decided to make a lamb pottage. Aside from the obvious ingredient— being lamb— it also contained leeks and carrots with a side of bread and cheese. Since Lancelot had cooked the meal, it was Nimue’s turn to clean up afterwards. They always divided up tasks like that to make it even instead of putting it all on one person.

Using the cloth from an old dress, she dries the freshly cleaned objects before putting all the contents back into the pot and turning back to where they have set up camp. Upon arriving back, she sets the pot back by the tree and finds Squirrel curled up in his cloak— absolutely passed out.

Lancelot has his back resting against the large tree, head titled up, with his eyes closed. If Nimue didn’t know him as well as she does now, she would have mistaken him for sleeping. Keeping his eyes closed and head still tilted up towards the sky, he reaches his hand out for her to join him. Placing her hand in his— she will never get over how small he makes her look— she plants herself down right beside him.

Apparently, that was not what he had in mind. Wrapping an arm around her back, he all but scopes her up and deposits her body onto his lap.

He opens his eyes and brings them down to hers as he smiles, “Better”.

She couldn’t have suppressed herself from giggling, in all honesty, she isn’t sure if she would want to. Despite being in the middle of a war, she was still able to find moments of happiness. Moments where everything happening in the world came to a halt and she was free. The more she payed attention to it, the more she realized that the majority of these little moments happened when she was around Lancelot. She could have never foreseen these turn of events.

Not so long ago, she considered him a mortal enemy— loathed his entire existence and was slightly afraid of him. But now, he was safety and warmth. Someone who was willing to listen. He was the one person in this world that understood her— truly understood her. Extreme loneliness following you around everywhere as it blankets you in a cloud of darkness. Always sticking out from everyone else around and being raised to hate who you are. He understood it because those were things he had experienced first- hand with himself. Her once enemy was now someone she heavily relied on and trusted— which you kind of have to be able to trust your partner when fighting in battle alongside them.

But most of all— despite being her former enemy— he was now her lover.

Being with him was like experiencing everything over for the first time. Their coming together was effortless. It scared her in the beginning— how easy it was for them to fall into those roles with each other. She never thought love could be like this, but this love made her into a believer.

He reaches up to grasp the sides of her face, pulling her head down towards his own, so his lips can reach hers. Using one of his hands as support, he pushes himself up off the ground while the other holds Nimue’s body to his. He places his knees on the grass below before allowing his full weight to be put on them. Laying her body on the ground to the right of him, he swivels his body to lay on his side. Brushing his lips against hers, he uses his elbow as support for his weight. As Nimue turns her head to deepen the kiss, he slides his right arm under her head for support and wraps his left arm around her waist to pull her closer to him— turning her on her side.

Nimue abruptly breaks the kiss, “What about Squirrel?”

“He’s asleep”, he whispers, “And it’s not like he has never seen us kiss before Nimue”.

She gives him a pointed look before locking lips with him again. “Only for a little while”, she mumbles against his lips.

He nods his head before deepening the kiss and tightening his hold on her frame. Her lips were always so warm and soft to him; Her skin was smooth like porcelain. He could never tire of her or want for anyone else. For him, this stuff was never apart of his life— he never got to explore sexual desires. But now— with her— he is a man unmade.

Being with Nimue was like seeing a whole new side of life, a place where he was free and weightless from burdens. Her presence alone was enough to calm him and her being by his side gave him the strength he needed to fight off his own internal demons. She wasn’t perfect, she had her flaws— just like him. And when she struggled, he was always there for her and vice versa. He admired the compassion she held for the ones she cared about and the lengths she was willing to go to protect them. Her powers have always left him in awe, as well as excitement— to see what else she is capable of.

He could have never guessed this is how his life would turn out. That his former enemy— the wolf- blood witch— would be his light in a pit of darkness. That his sworn enemy would be the one he held and curled up with at night. That his enemy would one day be the one he depended on the most.

But most of all— that his former enemy— would one day be his lover.

As they continued kissing, they kept a firm grip as they held each other under the moonlight.

After some time, they break the kiss— leaving their foreheads pressed up together. Taking a few moments to catch their breath, they bask in the quietness and tranquility of the night.

“I love you, Nim”, he whispers softly.

It’s upon hearing his words, that her eyes fly open. He has never said that to her, let alone ever had any man tell her that before. The mix of adoration and vulnerability reflecting back in his eyes makes her heart clench.

“I love you too, Lance”, she whispers back.

How could she not? They have both ruined the other, for they will never be able to feel this intensely about someone else in their lifetimes. They were the only ones capable of evoking such feelings in the other— everything else pales in comparison. They had to survive this; To get to live life with the other outside of a war. And as they drifted off to sleep together, they couldn’t have asked for anything more. Even when Squirrel woke them up in the middle of the night trying to get in the middle of them for warmth. Their life wasn’t perfect, but it was something worth fighting for— something they were both willing to fight for.

And that counts for something.


End file.
